


no sweeter pleasure than to see the credits clear through to the end

by necromantrix



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Headcanon, Introspection, POV Second Person, also the foretellers are spirits/dream eaters, mom is an incarnation (?) of kingdom hearts and that's the important detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromantrix/pseuds/necromantrix
Summary: Follow the book, you say, but it isn’t because the book is a proper guideline. It’s because they’d follow it anyway, even without it. You know they would.The future is written in ink and blood.---And you know it works as soon as you choose to look into the future. You know he passes on the Keyblade with how the eye spreads like a disease from heart to heart—and the irony is that you never once suspect that the fact that a certain level of darkness is necessary for it to manifest is a sign of how much darkness exists within yourself.(“Kingdom Hearts is light,” a boy says somewhere in the future, and you wonder if you would cry if you could.)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	no sweeter pleasure than to see the credits clear through to the end

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this written for a long, long while (after seeing the orchestra live a few years ago, once the headcanon slash theory hit me like a train), but i'm finally posting it here. it's been living on an unused roleplay blog for too long.
> 
> the title is from _rain in soho_ by the mountain goats
> 
> you can find me on twitter [@planthorror](https://twitter.com/planthorror), where i scream about anime and kingdom hearts

You are comprised of millions of hearts. You have the weight of their memories. You’ve seen and lived their lives and loss and pain.  
  
But you never learn from these things—you’re too proud to learn.  
  
Sometimes you can’t help but think that you’re too proud to even _feel_.  
  


* * *

  
Existence is easy. What’s hard is describing it as _living._  
  
One day you just _are_. One day you just exist, but it’s not in the way humans do; you’ve had consciousness and a will for so much longer than you’ve been in this constrained form—a form you find you have to constrain even more to blend in.  
  
A black coat, then, to hold yourself together, and a name you give yourself to explain what you think you are: Superbia. Pride. Superiority. For when you’re the center of everything, how could you not be proud?  
  
A personality follows, something pulled organically from the myriad of people you’ve known to exist. It’s something light and playful; perhaps, if you thought about it, it would feel like a mask to hide who—and _what_ —you truly are. How could anyone suspect someone so casual, so flippant, of being something so important? They can’t, and they won’t. Not really.  
  


* * *

  
Another title soon follows as you explore the depths of the light and the dark, learning what you can about the world you govern over in your own way. There’s something you learn about that bothers you: there’s a piece of you, or something parallel to you, that doesn’t exist except in concept. It’s called the χ-blade, and you know that it’s your protector, and that it holds power over you.  
  
It’s the key to what it is you are.  
  
And so you research it, and you find a way to create lesser weapons, but still powerful ones—Keyblades, you call them as you bring them into the world. The new title you take is the Master of Masters, for you train six apprentices and name them Masters beneath you.  
  


* * *

  
All six are special, separate from the ones they’ll train, and the ones who will be trained by them, so on and so forth. Five are special in the same way, but one comes first—one is special in a way above all the others. Luxu is first, and he’s always the favorite, and he’s the one you trust the most. (He’s a part of you, truly, split off from your own being and implanted within a vessel to grow.)  
  
And the other five are created after, when you recognize that some people cope with loneliness, and others can’t. Luxu is of the latter variety. Spirits, then, created after several trials and even more errors. The twins, Ira and Invi, followed by fair Ava. Shortly after her is rowdy Gula, and the last is brash Aced. It’s a family, you all decide, and no one asks any questions. (Well, they _do_ ask questions about the strange family that lives in the clock tower, but it’s nothing about specifics.)  
  


* * *

  
You’re haunted by things. You’re haunted by knowledge and plagued by fear. There are separate worldlines, parallel and overlapping one another—some vastly different, some vastly similar—and you take this knowledge and you act on it. To peer into the future is what you decide to do, and somehow—in some way—it works before you’ve even done anything beyond taking an eye and putting it in a Keyblade of your own.  
  
( _Your own._ The thought feels wrong, because you shouldn’t really have a heart of _your own._ But you do, and that thought is more terrifying than anything up to this point.)  
  
Your world, at this point, becomes something else. You write what you see, and you’re not sure if you writing it cements it or if ideas you _consider_ impact things or if these are actions set in stone and you’re just recording them—you don’t know the extent of your own powers, but it’s too late to explore them now.  
  
You can’t tell them what you’ve done. You can’t tell them of the sneaking suspicion that you’re the reason the future can’t change—you can’t tell them that you caused the setup with the creation of these lesser Keyblades in the first place and that you caused this war in the second. There is so much you can’t tell them, but there is so much you do.  
  
There are events, and there are people, and there are lives on the line. There is a War on the horizon now. There are worldlines to cross. People—children, much like your own but _human_ —will die.  
  
Most notably, you’ll disappear.  
  


* * *

  
Fearing death is a human concept, and there are hearts within you, that make up who you are, that don’t want to die again. They’ve made peace with this existence, and now that’s being threatened. This fear is not yours, but sometimes it feels like it might be. You don’t want to disappear.  
  
But you can see a way, so you write it.  
  
This world will end. Your children will be given roles. One—Luxu—will be sent away to watch. The other five will play their part in the war. (They’ll disappear from this worldline as Luxu does. They were always connected to him and his dreams, after all.) There are five more who will follow as leaders of the Dandelions. One of them will be given your Keyblade to pass on, and the rest will fly to the wind to flit between worldlines before settling. From there, everything will happen as it will. Luxu will watch. The others will remain neither here nor there.  
  
(And you will watch Luxu as he watches. You don't like not having your eye on him, even if you get the necessity of minding your distance.)  
  
Follow the book, you say, but it isn’t because the book is a proper guideline. It’s because they’d follow it anyway, even without it. You know they would.  
  
The future is written in ink and blood.  
  


* * *

  
And you know it works as soon as you choose to look into the future. You know he passes on the Keyblade with how the eye spreads like a disease from heart to heart—and the irony is that you never once suspect that the fact that a certain level of darkness is necessary for it to manifest is a sign of how much darkness exists within yourself.  
  
(“Kingdom Hearts is light,” a boy says somewhere in the future, and you wonder if you would cry if you could.)  
  


* * *

  
You do have a heart, you realize, but it’s not like those of humans. It’s bigger. It’s stronger. It’s more threatening. There’s so much in it. Terror. Fear. Sorrow. Hope. Despair.  
  
You’re filled with all of these things, and all you can do is wait.  
  


* * *

  
They all do what they’re set up to do, just as you knew they would.  
  
You knew it the moment you made the decision. You knew it as you wrote the future in your sloppy hand. You knew it when you helped them build their Unions, when you passed those books into their hands, and when you gave them their roles.  
  
They were always going to succeed, and all seven of you knew that the only way to succeed was to fail.  
  
And you do.  
  
You all do.  
  


* * *

  
To ever think you were something other than what you are was a sin of pride.  
  
To ever think you were capable of changing things was your folly.  
  
You knew your role the entire time. Why, then, did you ever think you could be something more than this gathering of people and places who have _actually_ existed?  
  


* * *

  
(But soon, you know, there is another war. “Soon” is subjective, but when you cease to exist, time becomes easier to confuse. But there is another war, and it’s in another worldline where the first war is all but legend spread by the Dandelions on the wind—but there’s another war, and you’ll be brought into this world. You’ll be brought back, and Luxu will be there waiting like he was told, and the rest of your children will be called. You’ll all be reunited again. As for what happens after that? Well… _you’ll see_.)


End file.
